Smoke on the Horizon, Names in the Wind

The morning sun crested the eastern ridge like a golden coin tossed into the sky. Shen stood at the edge of his now-bountiful field, a small sack of harvested greens at his side, and mud on his boots. The air smelled of earth, pine, and quiet satisfaction.

He had done it.

His first harvest.

A week of watching seedlings grow into strong crops, of hauling buckets, of scolding Yue for chewing on every other root—had finally paid off.

[System Notification]

First Harvest Complete

Reward: +1 Farming, +1 Cooking, +1 Land Affinity

Mood Buff Applied: "Satisfied Soil" – Minor stamina recovery while on claimed land (24hr)

Yue was chewing on a carrot.

Not her carrot. His carrot.

He crouched beside her, tugged gently.

She growled. He tugged harder.

"You are divine," Shen muttered, "but you're also a menace."

She stuck her tongue out, carrot firmly in mouth.

"…Fine. We'll split it."

After a quick breakfast and rechecking the reinforced fence, Shen packed his travel bag. Two days' worth of food, a carved wooden spoon, a bit of preserved wolf meat, and the deed petition he'd etched into bark using charcoal ink.

He was going to the village.

Just for a visit. Just to see what was out there. Maybe find Lan again. Maybe trade a few vegetables. Maybe—if the magistrate passed through—he'd make the land legally his.

Yue, of course, was coming along. There was no option otherwise. She leapt onto his shoulder as he bent to tighten his boots, chirping excitedly.

"You act like we're going on vacation," he said.

She licked his ear.

"...I deserved that."

The road from Mudvale was less a road and more a trail that hadn't yet been swallowed by moss and roots. It twisted through pine thickets and steep ridges, often broken by dry riverbeds or old logging tracks. Shen walked cautiously, his senses sharpened by solitude and responsibility.

Yue rode on his shoulder most of the way, occasionally leaping into the brush to chase lizards or examine shiny rocks.

A few hours in, Shen noticed the faint scent of smoke—not the acrid warning kind, but the warm, savory hint of firewood and meat. Civilization.

They crested a rise, and below it, nestled between two winding brooks, sat a small cluster of homes.

The village was humble: a few dozen wooden buildings, one large longhouse at the center, smoke drifting lazily from stone chimneys. Fields surrounded the perimeter, though most looked fallow this season. A wooden palisade circled the village, its gate left open.

Lan's village.

"Alright, Yue," Shen murmured. "Let's try not to get chased out."

She chirped and flattened her ears, clearly offended at the implication.

They were spotted before they reached the gate. A young boy stood atop the watch platform and let out a startled whoop.

"Traveler! Traveler on foot! He's got… a fox!"

This, apparently, was worthy of note.

A few moments later, an older man greeted them at the gate—lean, tan, and wrapped in a heavy hunter's coat.

"Name?" the man asked.

"Shen. I'm from the valley west of here. Farming."

The man's eyebrows rose. "Farming? Out there? That land's cursed."

"It's not cursed anymore," Shen said simply.

The man considered him for a long moment, then gave a short nod. "I'm Tam. Gatekeeper. You're not here to beg, are you?"

"No. I brought vegetables."

Tam blinked. "...Well. Come in, then."

The village wasn't what Shen expected. It wasn't cold or unfriendly—just… wary. Everyone who saw him nodded, some hesitantly, others with obvious curiosity. A man with a fox cub on his shoulder wasn't exactly a common sight.

He spotted a familiar face near the longhouse: Lan, his leg now tightly wrapped in a proper bandage, standing beside a rough-forged spear.

"Shen?!" Lan grinned. "You actually made it."

"You thought I'd starve."

"I gave you two weeks," Lan said cheerfully. "But here you are. You look… less like a hermit than I imagined."

"I harvested yesterday. Figured I earned a day off."

Lan gestured toward a small communal bench. "Come sit. Tell me everything."

They sat for nearly an hour while Shen told a carefully edited version of his time in Mudvale. He left out the wolf, the divine fox reveal, the system. He mentioned farming, foraging, even the strange claw prints near his field.

Lan listened, his face shifting from curiosity to concern.

"You're serious about staying," Lan said finally.

"I named it," Shen said. "You don't name a place you're planning to leave."

"Mudvale, right?"

"Right."

"It suits you."

"Is that an insult?"

"Maybe."

Yue, curled in Shen's lap, let out a suspicious growl in Lan's direction.

"She still doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like most people."

"Well," Lan said, leaning back. "You should talk to Mira."

"Who's Mira?"

"She's the de facto leader. She's smart. Handles village requests to the magistrate. If you want that land formally marked as yours, she's the one who'll send the message."

"Can she be trusted?"

Lan shrugged. "As much as anyone in a village with ten goats and no proper road."

Mira turned out to be a broad-shouldered woman with sharp eyes and a quiet voice. She listened to Shen's request with calm patience.

"You want to claim the valley? That abandoned place near the eastern ridge?"

"Yes," Shen said.

"Why?"

"Because it's mine now."

Mira smiled faintly. "Spoken like someone who's already fought for it."

Shen said nothing.

She tapped her chin. "You'll need to pay the land registration fee. Not much—just a token sum to keep the magistrate happy. And you'll need someone from the village to witness it."

"Lan?"

"He'll do."

"And the form?"

She handed him a worn piece of parchment. "Bring this to the town of Faelin. They'll send someone to inspect. Two weeks, maybe three."

Shen folded the paper carefully. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Mira said. "You're still an outsider. Be careful who you trust."

"I usually am."

Yue sneezed dramatically.

"Usually," Shen added.

He stayed in the village that night, sleeping in a shared loft above the granary. The bed was scratchy, the air was cold, and the fox hogged the blanket—but he didn't complain. It was the first roof over his head in weeks that wasn't made of bark and moss.

As he drifted to sleep, he thought about Mudvale. About his field. His little hut. His future.

He wasn't done there.

He had just started.

[End of Chapter 8]